


The Gift

by wenchofthewest



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Father-Daughter Relationship, M/M, References death of Jamie's mother, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 18:29:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9337619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wenchofthewest/pseuds/wenchofthewest
Summary: This is a short and sweet little "one shot" about Thomas and his daughter Jamie walking in the woods.  It references my fan fic "Just Look at Me," where Thomas fathers a daughter with a lesbian in New York.





	

“Mama was very beautiful, wasn’t she, Papa?” Jamie asked as she and Thomas walked in the woods surrounding their home just outside London.  It was autumn, and the trees had turned so that the leaves looked like bits of colored tissue paper as the afternoon sun shone through them.  “In that wedding picture, she looks so very beautiful.”

Thomas Barrow regarded his little daughter as he strode slowly alongside her.  She was only four, and it took several of her steps to make one of his.  “Yes,” he said, grinning.  “Very beautiful, and you are so _very_ much like her.”

With that Jamie herself grinned.  It was Thomas’ grin, all the way down to the dimples and the way her eyes sparkled.  She stopped walking, threw her arms around her father’s legs, and squeezed so he couldn’t move.  She looked up at him indignantly.  “Nah-- _ah!_ ” she exclaimed, “I look like _you,_ Papa, everyone says so!  Miss Baxter says I’m a _spittin’_ image!”

Thomas laughed and scooped Jamie up in his arms.  She wrapped her little arms around his neck and looked back at him with eyes the same gray-blue as his own, still wearing that defiant grin.

Thomas sighed with mock resignation.  “So you _do_ , and so you _are_ ,” he admitted.  He couldn’t put anything past this child.  She had a nose for nonsense and questioned everything, from the existence of faeries to Father Christmas.  It had become their little game, him teasing her with silly fibs he knew she’d catch and then delighting as she razzed him for it. 

“You are like her _inside_ , though, m’little lady,” he continued.  “You are clever and kind as she was.”

“You are clever and kind, too, Papa,” Jamie insisted.

“I wasn’t always,” Thomas said.  “Not like your mama.”

Jamie tilted her head forward to touch her father’s.  She was thoughtful.  “I wish she was here, Papa,” she finally said wistfully.  “Right now.”

“I know you do, sweetheart,” Thomas said, his heart aching.  “So do I.”

He knew Jamie thought constantly about the mother she’d never known, the mother who’d died in a street accident several weeks after her birth on Christmas Eve, 1925, back in New York.  Four years….  It seemed like a lifetime now.  Lately Jamie had been fixated on weddings, having passed by one at a church with Phyllis several months ago.  She’d been fascinated by the beautiful clothes, the pageantry, and the crowd celebrating the happy bride and groom.

She’d married off her dolls to her stuffed animals, and when she ran out of grooms, she married off the remaining dolls to “her” Jimmy.  Thomas and Phyllis had been invited to the wedding and had watched as Jimmy, sporting a top hat, and several dolls wearing handkerchief veils took their vows, which Jamie recited.

Thomas had found his and Jessie’s wedding picture on Jamie’s nightstand instead of where it usually sat on a shelf in the living room with their other photos.  The Barrow-Merrilee wedding had been the event of the summer season, Jessie’s mother, Edna, had seen to that.  It had been in all the New York society papers, and all the best families had attended.  The Granthams had crossed the Atlantic to be there.  In the picture, Thomas wore a top hat, tails, and gloves, and Jessie wore a wedding gown designed especially for her.  Jimmy, had been his best man, and Jessie’s lover, Erin, had been the matron of honor.

Oh, what a strange web the four of them had spun…. 

Someday when Jamie was much older, he would tell her the whole story.  _Much_ older….

He looked at his daughter’s pale, heart-shaped face with its delicate chin, red mouth, and the unruly black hair that Phyllis spent so much of her time trying to tame (with little cooperation from its owner). 

 _God_ , she did indeed look _so very_ much like him, even down to her expressions….

The last time Jimmy had taken Jamie to a fair, Jamie had come home complaining of a stomach ache.  When Thomas found out she had literally gorged on candy and ice-cream, he’d asked Jimmy why he’d overindulged her so.  Jimmy had replied, “I can’t say no to _you_ , Thomas.  How am I supposed t’say no to _her?_   A little girl with _yer face???_ ”

Jamie’s eyes met her father’s, and neither of them said a word.  The corners of Jamie’s mouth twitched slightly as she struggled to keep a straight face.  This was another game of theirs, the stare down, seeing who would crack a grin first.  Jamie stuck her tongue out at Thomas, and his lips quirked a bit, but he didn’t break.  Then Thomas made his infamous silly face, the one that never failed to break Jamie, even as a baby, and she burst into laughter.  Thomas grinned smugly, once again trying to get a rise out of his little girl.

“That’s not fair, Papa!” Jamie said, pounding his chest with her fists.  “You know that face is _too funny_ for me!” 

“That’s why I use it,” Thomas said.  “It’s my secret weapon.”

Jamie pouted. 

“Do you still love your Papa?” Thomas asked.  “Even when he wins?”

“ _Guess_ so…,” Jamie said, trying not to grin.

"You _guess_ so?" Thomas said, in mock offense.  "Well, that doesn't sound very reassuring."

Jamie giggled.

“Can Papa have a kiss?”

Jamie thought about it and kissed Thomas’ cheek.  He in turn kissed her cheek and temple, squeezing her and growling like a bear as he shook her and spun her around.  She screamed with delight.

“Papa, I told My Jimmy we would bring him a gift from the woods,” Jamie said, referring to the other man in her life.  They’d tried to get her to call him “Uncle Jimmy,” but Jamie had insisted on calling the one she was named after “ _My_ Jimmy,” so that’s how it was.  Once this child had taken possession of someone, they were hers.

Thomas set Jamie down, and she took his hand.  “Let’s find a gift for My Jimmy, Papa.  You can help me look.”  She set off determinedly, pulling Thomas along behind her.

Thomas never tired of watching Jamie, marveling at her very existence, which at times was still surreal.  This little person _was part of him_.  So _much_ like him, yet so distinct and separate a personality.  As she’d play, he’d ask her questions about her stories and dolls, “What’s this one’s name?” and “What are these two doing?” and she had very clear, thoughtful answers.

Phyllis bought or made Jamie’s clothes a bit large, so she’d get more wear out of them as she grew.  Dropped-waist dresses were her preference, and Thomas would watch Jamie move about her room with such purpose, arranging her toys, her low skirt with its large bow in back following along behind her, making her look like a marionette.  Her raven hair was thick and straight, just like Thomas’.  As a baby, it had literally stuck straight off her head, and they’d had to use pomade to tame it.  Now, she longed for curls, but whenever Phyllis would set her hair before bed, she’d come in the next morning to find the rags tossed onto the floor, and Jamie’s hair unrulier than ever.  “They make my head too bumpy,” Jamie would say.  “I can’t sleep.”  So, Jamie’s hair was usually done in a low braid or pulled off her face by a ribbon.  She didn’t want it short, which was the current trend.  

“Oh, Papa, look!”  Jamie’s eyes were huge as she stared at a tree just ahead of them.  She ran off the trail through the crunchy leaves and grabbed something nestled among them.  She brought it to her father.

“How strange it is, Papa!” she exclaimed turning it in her small hand.  “What _is_ it?”

Thomas took the object and examined it.  “It’s a seed pod of some kind.”

“Will it grow, Papa?” the little girl asked.  “Will it be a baby tree?”

“Perhaps,” Thomas said.  “We’ll have to check Jimmy’s plant book or ask the gardener.”

“I’m sure Mr. Daley will know,” Jamie said.  “Maybe My Jimmy and I can grow it, Papa.  We can grow a baby tree.  Do you think he would like that, Papa?”

“I _know_ he would like that, love.”

“If we plant it now, will it grow?”

“Some seeds need a cold winter or even fire before they’ll grow in the spring,” Thomas said.  _Kind of like people,_ he thought.

Thomas handed the seed pod back to Jamie, and she slipped it into her pocket.  She took her father’s hand, grinned up at him, and began pulling him along the path towards the house.  “Let’s give My Jimmy his gift, Papa,” she said, bursting with excitement.  “And we can look in the plant book, too.”

“Perhaps we can pop some corn in the fire with Miss Baxter,” Thomas said.  “Would you like that, love?”

“Yes, come on, Papa, let’s go!”  Jamie impatiently tugged at Thomas’ hand, urging him to walk faster.  He chuckled and carefully strolled, taking care not to outpace his child with his long legs and wondering what he’d done in life so fine to deserve such contentment….

**Author's Note:**

> Have been thinking about my own dad, who passed a little over a year ago, and channeling that into this short fic. We used to banter and tease like this, and all of his kids grew up to be sarcastic smart asses, just like the old man. What a legacy. lol


End file.
